


La Luna de Valencia

by miraimisu



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon | Pokemon Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon Versions
Genre: Alternatively: Is Gladion insane or not, Angst, Breakdown (kinda), F/M, Family Issues (duh), Happy Ending, Longing, ModernMythology!AU, Mythology - Freeform, Plot: Is She Real or Is She Not, This is mythologish but you'll get it very soon, Wherein Gladion finds Moon so beautiful his heart goes into a frenzy and this fic happened, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraimisu/pseuds/miraimisu
Summary: A man once found a painting of a woman so vivid, so sharp, and so breathtakingly beautiful that he fell in love with her.
Relationships: Gladio | Gladion/Moon
Comments: 17
Kudos: 22





	1. La Luna de Valencia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frozenleaf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frozenleaf/gifts).



> have you ever heard of the reverse uno card phenomenon
> 
> Texty aka Frozenleaf drew something gorgeous for my birthday and I screamed so hard I gave myself a concussion and got inspired
> 
> I tried to keep it short because I know you Texty, but you must also know you drove me insane so take this as a thank for you for being awesome and being so talented you triggered a plot bunny in my head

> **_estar en la luna de Valencia_ :** Spanish expression.  
>    
>  To be distracted, absent-minded. To be daydreaming.

* * *

His family's museum is empty tonight, long closed and clean. The exposits are spotless, the glass shining under the warm lights that are still on. He has the keys to every corridor and area of the building, so grand and magnificent only the Aedus Family could have built it.

There are opulent pictures of the family in each and every hallway of the museum; it's no secret Lusamine is not only rich, but also incredibly narcissistic. Lillie's presence is much more meager and kind, and their father's paintings are close to nonexistent. Most of what Mohn had painted had been either sold off to build this bonafide paradise or sealed in a basement.

Lusamine doesn't want artists in her household.

Gladion has long stopped being that.

The walls are white, the floor is white, but the decorations are made of gold and everything is silent. It's Gladion's definition of heaven. The perfect greenhouse for a soul as quiet as his.

He walks by distractedly, sometimes looking up at the works hung on the walls. He has seen them all and knows where each hangs by memory. He could list all the pictures in this museum without missing a beat.

Gladion walks under the colored glass arch, past the million pounds worth of paintings, takes a turn into a room colored dark blue, and something within him beats in anticipation. His walk around the closed museum has been unaltered thus far: that is, until he looks up.

There's a painting of a woman at the end of the room, illuminated by a single beam of silver light. Warm eyes deeper than the night, dark as such, and a smile so small but so content she looks at peace. Even if she's a painting. Even if she's no more than oils and paints. Her presence is deeper than words could describe. She seems more real than anything worth a million dollars in this museum.

She feels… alive.

It seems like she's wearing the entire universe as a dress, suns, moons, and stars wrapped around her body as she sits on the crescent moon. A halo of light is wrapped around her, and for a second, Gladion thinks his heart might have stopped; or maybe, it only began to beat and live now.

He hesitantly raises his hand to touch the picture, expecting the woman to speak, to snap him out of this stupid trance.

When his fingers touch warm painting and the bumps of the oils, he recoils, flinching, and turns heel to the exit.

For some reason, his heart won't stop pounding.

* * *

He sees her in his dreams, fully reachable, fully tangible: _there_.

"Gladion," she calls, her voice giggly and sweet, caressing his cheeks with the delicacy of silk and glass. Her voice, however, sounds hollow, and when he tries to commit the sound to memory, it only goes further away. "Hey, Gladion. I'm so happy to see you again."

She calls his name like a siren, tentative. She's framed by silver lights and the distant noise of stars crashing at the seams of the universe.

Her touch is soft, longing, and when he can nearly get a glimpse of her eyes and drown in her smile, he wakes up.

* * *

"Gladion, why are you so fidgety? The painting won't leave. It's not sentient."

Part of him fears it had been a hallucination induced by a tiring day. "I need you to see it. Something is wrong with it."

Because anything in this life that makes him feel _anything_ is wrong. His life is hollow, empty, solid and strong as an untouched fortress. There are no gaps for feeling, emotion or love to sneak in. His life is devoted to work and art research.

Whatever that painting had must have been a mirage. Lillie shakes her head. "Are you one of those children saying that painting with the Gastly is haunted? I thought you were better than this."

"It's not _haunted_ ," he says between gritted teeth. "It's just– I– you will see what I mean when we get there."

Thankfully, the museum is mostly empty this early in the morning, and Gladion wonders if the painting will have the same enamoring effect in the day. It feels wrong to gaze into a painting that beautiful when the sun is still outside. The painting will shine ten times brighter than the sun, Gladion knows that much.

However, much to his devastation, when they get to the secluded corner of the exposition, where the woman used to smile now hangs a simple painting of a bowl of fruit and a window. Gladion swears his heart freezes solid.

Lillie, ignorant of his turmoil, nods in appreciation. "It _is_ a pretty painting, but calling it _haunting_ might have been a bit of a stretch, big brother." Lillie turns to him. Her eyes go round when she notices the abrupt paleness of his skin. "Gladion? Is everything alright?"

Where did she go?

Where did the woman with the beautiful smile and the universe go?

It had been too real to be a joke. Anytime he thinks about the painting, his heart pumps and throbs. It _had_ to be real. Maybe he misplaced the location of the painting, maybe–

"There was a painting here," he takes a deep breath. "A girl with black hair. Sitting on the moon."

Gladion tries to conjure the image back to consciousness, yet it's gotten a little less clear; the evocation of it, however, reels the same emotional reaction out of him.

Lillie shakes her head. "Mother would never allow a painting that whimsical into her museum. You know she has a little obsession with portraits and ancient-looking pictures. I'm unsure what you mean, but it sounds a little childish." She tilts her head in concern for her brother. "Maybe you saw it in another–"

" _No_ , Lillie. I was here last night and–"

"You came here last night after closing hours? You know Mother _hates_ that!"

Gladion keeps himself shut. He couldn't give more of a crap about his Mother these days. "There was a different painting last night. Is there any chance some clumsy employee moved it around?"

Lillie grabs a notepad from her hip and goes through a few pages of schedules, plans, and important dates. She shakes her head in apparent dismay. "Sorry, big brother. I'm sure you just saw it in another museum."

Gladion keeps looking at the picture like it will morph back into dreamy smiles and stars, so Lillie leaves with that.

* * *

Gladion reaches a very reasonable conclusion at the end of the day and heads to the library.

As much as he's clumsy with art and he doesn't know technicalities, he _remembers_ what the picture had looked like and he knows what he has to look for, more or less. Given the proximity of the library to the Aether Museum and several art schools, the shelves are full of books on art history, as expected.

He entered the library at 9 o'clock and it only takes three hours of obsessive research to have his whole table piled with books of different thickness, different ages, but unchanging uselessness.

Gladion _knows_ there has to be information about the painting. He's sure Lillie is mistaken and that the painting _exists_ , but it had been moved somewhere else. If Mother has bought it, the painting has to be known and a masterpiece. The second rule applies (if his current obsession is any proof of that) but the first is yet to be seen.

He thought the style could be modern judging by the colors, but no book mentions or illustrates the picture. It could also date back to the Greeks, but it doesn't. There's no mention of it in Neoclassical art books, nor Renaissance art or Modernism. There are a lot of beautiful paintings on the pages, but none of them are as beautiful as her.

It's _her_ he's looking for. He wants to see _her_ again. He needs to know if what he had felt had been real or if it had been a mirage.

In due time, Gladion gets tired and, frustrated as he is, goes to the librarian. He greets him politely. "I'm looking for a certain painting that was recently moved away from the Aether Museum. It might be mythological."

Because a woman sitting on a crescent moon had to be that. A depiction of a goddess. A depiction of something not even a mortal as wise and stubborn as he could ever reach.

The librarian nods. "There are a few books on mythology at the back of the library, but they are quite ancient. And long."

"I don't care." Gladion combs a hand through his uneven bangs, getting impatient. "The bigger the books, the more information they have. If I have to be here all night, so be it."

The librarian is momentarily perplexed about his insistence, but nods and leads him away regardless. They walk past alleys of tables between bookshelves, some tables lit up with lamps, some washed in darkness.

The last table he passes by has one single lamp turned on and a girl is studying a small book. He catches the barest of glimpses of her: pale shoulders, short black hair, the faintest of stars catching in her eyes, her head turning with a familiar smile–

Gladion freezes, then rushes back to where he had seen her, only to realize she's gone.

The librarian has opened the door to the storage for him. "Sir, is everything alright?"

It must have been a figment of his imagination. There's no way she was there, right? He's investing too much time into this.

Gladion gulps, nodding, and heads towards the librarian.

He can't help but feel like it had been _her_ on that table, smiling at him; except this time she had been made of flesh and bones, a gentle smile, and stars.

* * *

Gladion dreams of her once more. In the big estate of the Aether Family, his sleepy pleas for her are met with no help.

"Gladion," she calls again, lost in the darkness under his eyelids, voice a whisper, her touch gentle and kind. "You shouldn't be looking for me."

But he wants to find her, he tries to tell her, reaching out in his sleep. But he needs to find her. He needs to meet her. He wants to see her again.

She shakes her head, hair brushing with her slender shoulders. "You can't find me. I will be watching over you, my love." Her fingers softly run down his jaw, tender. He feels fleeting pressure on his forehead. It feels like a blessing. "I will always be by your side. Don't try to find me. We aren't meant to be."

And Gladion wakes up once more.

* * *

Gladion hasn't picked up a brush in at least ten years.

He settles in his father's workshop, sits in front of the blank canvas and works through the myriads of colors in front of him. The Aether Family had vowed to never paint again after the death of his father, but something within him is screaming, thrashing for attention.

He needs to see her again, somehow. Her image is becoming blurry with the passing of days, the colors of her eyes are no longer an exact heart-wrenching color, but a blur of constellations and supernovas. She's all he can think about now, and the thought of losing her image to the void, of losing _her_ , brings his chest to a heartbroken swell.

Gladion remembers blue, remembers the silver of the moon, the tender flesh of her skin, the dark color of her tresses. If he focuses enough, he can nearly feel her right there, with him, taking his hand, smiling at him.

He dips his brush into midnight skies and paints the universe on the canvas. He paints slender shoulders, a dress blanketing her body like a layer of space and constellations. He draws a thin smile. He does this job with care. He paints her like he's trying to paint the whole world in one simple, cheap canvas.

When he's finishing her dress and working on details he has never seen, Lillie knocks on the door. "Gladion? Are you okay? You have been there for hours."

He realizes she's right. He had sat down after lunch and the sky is now black outside. He wonders if he can take the color and reproduce it on the masterpiece he's trying to reproduce.

He barks a response. "I'm busy, Lillie."

"What are you doing anyway? You know Mother doesn't like artists. He doesn't want any of us to paint."

But what if Gladion _wants_ to paint? What if he just wants to meet the woman in the sky and this is his only way of getting close to her?

He needs to see her again. Gladion can't go a single day more without getting a full glimpse of her.

"It's personal," he says again, harsher than he had intended. He's been working for hours non-stop. His eternally uncompromising habits, never settling down for a hobby, never investing himself in anything, are a stark contrast with his current situation. He's getting tired, but only physically. "Don't tell Mother about this."

"But–"

"Don't worry about me," he says again, picking the color of her dress, beginning to picture the ends of it and how it'd feel under his fingertips. "Leave. Mother will get suspicious if she sees you there. You know her anger better than me, Lillie."

And Lillie leaves without a second thought. Her feet tump up the stairs and out of the basement, and Gladion buries himself in thoughts of the lady of the moon, of how he can hear the stars anytime he thinks of her and how his heart throbs at the thought of seeing her again.

* * *

Painting her will never be enough, he realizes as weeks pass by. He spends his nights in the basement, trying to capture the vastness of her being and trying to conjure her into reality with each stroke of his brush. Paints will never be enough when all his mind can think about is meeting her in real life.

He's not a god. Gladion can't paint her into life.

He wants her to come out of his mediocre painting and envelop him in warmth and peace. Feelings he had only felt when he saw her for the first time. No matter how many brushstrokes meet the canvas, it's not the same.

Gladion can't illustrate her beauty no matter how much he tries.

In his dreams, she speaks of them not being meant to be together. Of how they will never meet.

Gladion's hands are tattered with paint and his clothes are discolored despite the splash of color on the wooden floor. Her image is loyal to what he can still remember, but she's still not as bright as he remembers her. The moon isn't as real, her eyes aren't as deep.

He wants her to come to life.

Lillie watches him as he sketches furiously on a desk of the basement, looking at the painting, then at him. "Brother, it's a _marvelous_ painting. What do you pretend to achieve with this?"

How can he explain that he once felt the closest thing to being heartstruck and that he wants to relive the same feeling for eternity? That his life had been washed in gray until he saw _her_?

"It has to be _perfect_ ," Gladion mumbles, forming a sheet of paper into a ball, then grabbing another. "It's not the same."

"The same as what?"

"As the one I saw at the museum that night." His voice quivers with a need nobody would ever hear in him. "Something is missing."

Lillie hesitates to say anything else, then turns around to the canvas. Gladion had once feared her judgment and the skepticism she has inherited from Lusamine, but she's a sensitive soul over anything else.

"I think the painting looks great, Gladion." He nearly sighs in disgust because that's the fourth time she's said that tonight, but she speaks again, softly mannered. "But… Father once told us that the best paintings come when we're truly invested in what we're painting. It's why Mother doesn't want us to paint anymore. She thinks that's foolish."

Gladion has the impulse to show her all that's around him. He is the book definition of a tormented artist. "Don't I look _invested_?"

He's been obsessing over this woman for weeks now. Jailed in his basement. Drawing like a madman who's only obsession has suddenly become _her_.

He has heard of people who suddenly snap out of their routine and change their lives dramatically. Gladion isn't sure his current state could be a result of that breakdown.

"I'm not referring to the investment of _time_ , but your feelings." Lillie brings a hand to her chest, looking at the painting before her. "Whatever you are feeling right now… Many fairytales have talked of artists who fall in love with their muses. Perhaps that's your case, too. But you have been closed off for so long it makes sense you can't achieve that perfection yet."

Gladion stops his scrambling and frantic doodling at once, turning to Lillie fully. "You're suggesting I hand my soul to a painting?"

"Considering how much time you have invested in the issue, I believe you already have in one way or another. I'm sure someone must be watching over you dearly to help you create something this beautiful." Lillie's fingers brush the dry paint. "Father would be so proud of you."

When Lillie leaves and closes the door, she opens the window for something else to come in. Gladion stares at the painting again, then closes his eyes, evocating the touch of her fingers on his cheeks.

A fleeting whisper of a dream, a whimsical voice holding him back from sinking further into this obsession.

He decides that each brushstroke shall be a brick of his fortress being torn down, and continues painting.

And Gladion falls deeper and deeper in love with what he sees, with what he creates, and wonders if maybe, just maybe, they would one day meet in the night sky.

* * *

His euphoria upon finishing the painting doesn't last very long. Lusamine one day finds it and, upon inspection, calls Gladion over to ask him about the painting. Lusamine has never been one to delight herself with pleasantries of the dreaming kind, nor entertain others doing that.

The painting goes to the attic of their mansion, high where he can't reach it and where his keys can't open the door. He has tried to push the door open, to tear it down piece by piece, but it won't budge. It's closed forever.

He knows he will never be able to reciprocate the same serenity he had achieved. Her image is becoming blurry as days pass by and her painting gathers dust in a corner. His days tick slower at an excruciating pace.

He spends some days in bed, unable to move. His fortress has been torn down, and he has given his heart to an endeavor that has left him open and numb.

It feels like he's grieving, almost.

And then, she visits him when Morpheus has him under custody, consoling his soul with tender words.

"I already told you not to try, my love," she whispers. She might be curled against his chest, she might be hugging him, she might have him on her lap. She's _everywhere_. "Please, do not cry for us. It will be okay."

But he wants to meet her. His heart aches for her to be real. He _needs_ her.

"I will be watching over you. You were never meant to see me." His heart cries a river. "As long as the moon shines, I will be with you. Don't cry for me. Live on for me, and rest assured that things will work out."

And as he wakes again, he's only left with the beating of his heart and the maddening need to meet her.

His pain is muddled with the meetings that come up, the comeuppances of life and the eternal burden of shouldering his family's hurdles.

One day, Lusamine hands him an invitation to a ball that he has no option but to attend. The Aether Family has a reputation that Gladion will never tarnish, that much Lusamine has told him. He's very aware that while Lillie and Lusamine are elegant, poised and graceful, he's ragged lines and the shell of a man he once was.

He puts on his best tuxedo, discards a bowtie Lusamine has tried to manipulate him into wearing and attends the dance.

As usual, he's alone and at the sidelines. At the front, Lusamine is introducing Lillie to the many guests, potential investors. To his left, people he knows are chatting amicably in front of a table.

And Gladion… he's alone, thinking, looking around, thinking of where to go so nobody will hound him with questions.

His eyes move to the balcony. People move through his line of view to the horizon and the city lights, but through the dresses, the opulence and the golden laughter, he catches a glimpse of starlight and black.

There's a woman at the balcony, looking at the sky, and when his eyes land on her and his world slows down, she turns around as well, smiling. She's holding a teal-colored balloon with one hand, and stretching her other to reach him, to beckon him to come closer

Gladion's eyes widen, his heart swells, and he shuffles towards the balcony only to be met with the crisp air of winter and no sight of her anywhere. The air is cold where she used to stand, and all that remains is the starlight hanging in the beautiful sky and the crescent moon illuminating the world.

With a frustrated growl, aware that he's far away from where anyone could hear him, Gladion slams his hands on the railing of the balcony.

"Stop hiding from me!" he yells to the sky, eyes on the moon above him. "I know you're real, I have seen you, you can't keep doing this to me. It's not fair!"

All he's met with is the howling wind underneath the balcony, filling the gaps in his silence and prompting him to talk more. He won't move until she comes back.

She's real.

She _has_ to be.

"I'm seeing you _everywhere_. You're in my dreams, under my eyelids, and I _know_ you're somewhere near me now! Stop hiding from me, please!" Where he had been demanding he has turned desperate, knowing this is the closest he will ever get to seeing his wishes come true. "Please. Don't run away from me. I just… I need to see you. Please."

Deep inside, he knows his wishes will never come true; that's why when silence and the echo of his voice make themselves kings of the ambiance, his shoulders shake and he feels his resolve crumble.

That's why when he doesn't see _her_ appear again, he convinces again that the goddess he's seen everywhere is a figment of his imagination.

He begins to believe nothing is real.

A thread sneaks into his view, throwing a shadow over him with a cerulean color. When he looks up, Gladion is met with a single teal-colored balloon, hovering right in front of him, unmoving.

Without breathing, Gladion reaches out for the balloon, curious, tenderly pinching the thread with two of his fingers before the balloon begins to effortlessly fly up, up, and _up_ until Gladion isn't touching the ground anymore.

He's flying upwards, soaring across the clouds and the stars and leaving the gorgeous building where he used to stand. It becomes a dot in the distance, a halo of human lights surrounded by the sea. The air has gotten a little colder the higher he rises, but as he keeps looking at the body of the balloon and the moon, he's aware he has never felt any safer than this.

He soars through clouds, through floating gems in the sky, through fairies and the twinkling constellations draped above him in the endless sky.

The balloon halts it ascend and drops him on a cloud, and when he feels he's on safe ground, he lets the balloon gently slip from his fingers, watching it fly away until a gentle voice interrupts him.

 _Her_ voice, splitting the fogginess of his dreams into reality.

"I have never met a mortal as wonderfully stupid as you before."

Gladion sharply turns to her. It's _her_ , tangible and real, sitting on the moon with her legs crossed. Her dress moves as she gently stands up, making the stars move as she walks towards him, hands behind her back and a smile so bright it could blind him.

He holds a hand in mid-air, speechless, and the woman tilts her head. "You asked to see me, didn't you?"

"I… I did," Gladion says clumsily, wincing at his own words. "I'm just… I never thought I would see you after this crusade. You were everywhere but also _nowhere_. I thought you were a dream."

She remains quiet for a second, gazing into his eyes with intent and feeling that he had never seen in anyone ever before.

She takes a step closer. She's wearing no shoes. "My name is Moon, and I am the guardian of the night sky. I live here most of the time, and I watch over mortals when they sleep." Moon's eyes turn to the sky around her. With her in front of him, this celestial dome seems cozy. A home. "It gets lonely here so… us guardians sometimes take shapes. We like to haunt buildings, we like to play with the animals and… we like to possess objects, sometimes."

"Possess… objects?"

"We like to watch mortals from a closer perspective, so we take over an object to watch over them. It's an uncanny practice, but a practice nonetheless– a practice I've partaken in." Moon's eyes fill with relief and happiness. "It's how I met you. When I possessed the painting in your family's museum."

Many revelations explode into existence in Gladion's mind: the first of which being that she had been real all along and that he had never imagined any of their encounters. Their _story_ had been real all along.

Seeing his silence, Moon hesitates, curling a strand of hair around her finger. She wonders how it'd feel like under his touch. "I… never thought I would meet a human like you. It truly is an uncommon thing. It's even more uncommon for a mortal to fall for a guardian right away just because of her looks."

But it hadn't been only her looks, Gladion wants to say, because something in the painting, the vastness and the grandeur and serenity of her soul had pulled him closer than anything else. Like a meteorite crashing on Earth and crushing him.

Gladion gulps, embarrassed. "I'm… I'm sorry about that."

He tugs at his collar, but Moon giggles and takes his hand to pry his fingers off his collar.

"It's fine." Her fingers lace with his absent-mindedly. Gladion commits the warmth of her touch to candid memory. "You're not the weird one here. It's even stranger for a guardian to fall for the mortal soul, anyway."

Her words seize his heart and make it swell in apprehension, throat going dry at her declaration. Before he can sweep her into his arms and give in to his feelings, she's tugging him to walk with her.

"Do you want to watch the stars with me?" she asks, timid, but guiding him to the moon hovering over the clouds. It casts a pale yellowish light on the fluffy clouds under their feet. "The city is beautiful tonight. I'm sure you will find it lovely."

Part of Gladion wonders if the moon will burn when he sits on it, how it can float idly and how it can shine this gloriously. When Moon sits down and he follows her example, he finds the light to be far from harming: it's a soothing, serene hue. The surface is lukewarm, but nothing like the woman sitting by his side, kicking her feet as they watch the city.

The landscape is all city lights, cars zooming by and the stars twinkling in a greeting to the visitor. Creatures shaped like stars zoom about with mirthful squeals. The buzz of the city is long gone, and all he hears is the space and her breathing. He would kill to be here for his entire lifetime.

His hand is laced with hers, fingers intertwined.

"I would have thought a guardian as avid as you would have possessed every object in the city. It's a very beautiful place to visit."

Moon puffs her cheeks. "I'm aware of that. It just takes a lot of time to leave an object and come back here." Her eyes turn to him, meaningful and wide. "I only possessed that painting because I wanted to take a closer look at you. I was… curious about you."

Gladion looks at her too, eyebrows arched. "I'm not the most interesting of people."

She giggles into her free palm. "I was just mesmerized by you. You always lead a tiring life full of people with a family and… well, I'm all alone here. You seem troubled, but content with the way you lead your life." Her eyes turn to the sky. "I always wondered what a life with a family would be like."

He briefly wonders if he would rather be homeless and lonely and not live with the dysfunctional family he lives with. He wonders what life would be like without Lusamine, without Lillie, without the restraints of a social status he doesn't want to meet; he never has, to begin with.

"I would love to show it to you, someday," he says in a mesmerized whisper, smiling. The stretch feels unfamiliar on his lips, but he welcomes the change. "I don't think there's anyone I would like to be with other than you, now."

Moon's eyebrows sink in a humoring frown. "Ah, you mortals are always so clingy." But it's said with so much affection it sounds like a joke; she caresses his cheek, smiling. "I wish I could cling too. And live down there, with you."

Something in her message tells him that their wishes won't come true, but before he can give it a single thought, he leans forward and brushes his lips with hers, rising a hand to her curly hair, and then to tenderly hold her cheek, closing his eyes as she leans into him, hands on his chest. His free hand cups her hip, pushing her closer, locking her lips with his in a tender, longing manner.

She tastes like honey and stars and the sunlight she's probably never seen. Her warmth seeps into him and wraps around his heart. He kisses her leisurely, caressing her skin, gliding his lips against hers with the softness of a man knowing this will soon be over and that all that will remain is the memory of her.

He keeps the sounds of her tiny moans in his pocket. He keeps the feeling of her soft dress in his memory. He carves the image of her between his eyes and bows to never forget she exists.

When they break away, cheeks blistered and her hair slightly tousled, Moon is smiling wobbly. Gladion doesn't understand why; that is, until she explains herself.

"I never thought kissing a mortal would feel this nice," she admits, biting her lip. "It will make saying goodbye a little harder."

So there _will_ be a goodbye.

Rather: _this_ is goodbye.

Moon takes both of his hands. "Once a guardian makes contact with a human once, they shall never meet again. Not this way, at least. It wouldn't be fair for me to treat you any differently because I'm in love with you." She caresses the mountains of his knuckles. "But we will meet again, someday. I promise."

His eyes frown, wide and urgent. "What if we never do?"

"A guardian never breaks a promise. I can swear that to you." Moon lifts her hand, a pinky stretched out. "I believe mortals do it like this, right? I heard it here and there."

Moon trying to make a pinky promise with him might be the cutest thing in this century and the next. He wraps his pinky around hers and gives it a small tug. "Next time you want to talk to me… please, do it in person. Don't hide behind the curtains of a dream or a painting." His knuckles caress her cheek. "Let me see _you_ next time."

"I will keep it in mind."

Moon walks him across the plateau of clouds, holding his hand all the while. She mentions that some people always express fear over heights, but that she's glad he's not one of those people. His thumb caresses her palms, thinking of how many paintings he will be able to develop with this night as vividly saved now.

The teal-colored balloon floats down. One last chance to say goodbye.

Moon tiptoes and presses a kiss on his lips, one that he doesn't hesitate to chase with eagerness. She giggles into his touch, sliding her lips against him before letting him go, gazing into his eyes.

"Be careful with the ride down," she says warmly, eyes crinkled in affection. "I will see you soon."

Gladion gingerly takes hold of the balloon. He doesn't want to say goodbye. "Will I see you in my dreams?"

Moon nods curtly. "And in reality, when the time is due."

He dedicates her a final smirk, grabbing hold of the balloon. "I would like that."

Moon waves her hand as the balloon begins to ascend a little. Clouds part for him to sink into, and the last sight he has of Moon is her smiling at him, mouthing three words he can now reproduce in his head for years to come.

His heart is warm. His feet tingle. His head is dizzy and drunk in euphoria, like a kid seeing the sun for the first time. He falls into the Earth gently, seeing the city approach him with welcoming arms, lights now turned down as the barest of glimpses of sunlight stream from the horizon.

When Gladion lands, the dream is over and the sun is rising, but his heart is warm, content, and where frostbite used to stand it's all lukewarm memories and gentle promises to meet again.

He watches the balloon float away into the sunrise.


	2. En las Nubes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texty: this was good  
> me: thanks I really appreciate it  
> Texty: I wonder how it ended though because it was very open-ended. I like to think they lived a happy ever after. What do you think?  
> me: ... don't  
> Texty: 8D
> 
> and here we are today and LOOK I said goodbye last time in the author's notes but I never say goodbye and not only wasn't it goodbye it's also twice as long so I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY WITH YOUR DECISION TEXTY HHHHHHHHHHH if I let you down I'm thoroughly sorry for disappointing lmao you asked for it so >:)
> 
> so here's a sequel that is twice as long. for NO reason.

> **_estar en las nubes_ :** Spanish expression.  
>    
>  To be ignorant of your surroundings, to be absent. To be daydreaming.

* * *

There are very few things Gladion believed in as a child.

When Lusamine would threaten him with the spells of a ghost if he didn't behave well, he would never believe her because she had raised him as a skeptical child. When Lillie told him that 'what went around came around' Gladion wouldn't believe her either, because things as luck and reprisal were foreign to him. Gladion believed in tidy spaces, in the logical unfolding of life and the belief that he would someday live a quiet, peaceful life.

There are even fewer things he currently believes in.

Part of him now believes that 'what goes around comes around', and that while no ghost will ever punish him for his misbehaving, the universe's order someday will. The thought of anything bigger than him had always flown over his head, because as Lusamine said, "There's nothing you shall ever worry about but yourself."

She told him to never worry about his family. To never mourn his father's death. To never follow his steps and pick up a brush. To never fall under his shadow no matter what the miracles of life told him.

Under the shower of stars and quiet night skies, Gladion has found solace in picking up a sketchbook and doodling everything and anything. He doodles the constellations far from reach, the meteors that will one day cross the sky, the trees in the fields he can't see and the places he would like to visit with somebody that is now far from reach.

He's acutely aware that it's _her_ who litters most of his pages now, that he needs to draw her and paint her and _see_ her because he doesn't want to forget. The eternally insecure side of him will forever be scared of forgetting about the only stream of light that has sneaked into his life.

Humankind always rushes to sunlight, yet Gladion finds peace in the moonlight. When the skies are gray and a storm closes in, he wonders if she's sad, if she misses him, wherever they are, and if she's looking at the same sky as he is, waiting to meet him. He wonders if she gets cold up there, if the storm hits her too, if the moonlight gets tiring to look after.

Gladion spends his days in wonder, looking out the sky with a longing gaze in his eyes. It's the most intense twinkle of emotion he has ever felt. He loves his sister dearly and he _despises_ his mother.

Both of them are strong emotions, but they live with him. He has made a home for those antagonizing demons. He's used to them.

And then there's Moon, her touch like feathers and her kiss like a star.

He doesn't know if he will ever meet her, but when she made that promise, something in him had trusted her blindly.

Sometimes, he wonders if she had been another of his hazy dreams.

Sometimes, he wonders if this feeling will go away.

Gladion goes to sleep.

* * *

In his dreams, Moon is never fully visible. She's barely there, a shadow hidden between curtains of hazy lights, yet he knows her to be beautiful all the same.

"Tell me, will you wait like I so selfishly asked you to?" Her voice rings like bells in summer. "Will you ever hate me for stealing your breath away that night? When years have passed, will you love me the same?"

Gladion wants to tell her that he's certain he will. He has seen many women, he has kissed many women, he has _touched_ many women, but the delicacy and fantasy she offers are unique. He loses himself in dreams of her.

He's sold himself to this fantasy. Even if he can't talk to her like she can, oh so dreamy and loving.

And he can't get out of it no matter how many times his rationality wonders if this is worthwhile.

* * *

Lillie isn't ignorant of his obsession, though Gladion has defensively told himself it's _not_ an obsession. He has long stopped throwing his fury to the wall and the sky between his beloved and him, and what used to be a fervent need to meet her has now turned into soft waiting, albeit patient and as passionate as it has always been.

Gladion has decided to dedicate his days to waiting. The rest is purely irrelevant.

Lillie, like the good sister she is, grows concerned.

She watches him sketch in his bedroom, hands folded on her lap. "What are you drawing today?"

Gladion dedicates her one single look that says it all, and Lillie's frame slackens the slightest bit. Whenever he tells her it's _Moon_ he's drawing, light seems to fade from her eyes. Gladion can't understand why, and she hasn't explained her feelings on the issue to him.

Not yet, at least. There's always a small _yet_ to the way she talks, to the way she accepts his new hobby and remains quiet.

Lillie has always been fragile, but nobody in the Aether family is known for being quiet about things they don't approve of.

Part of Gladion urges him to not say anything and to remain underwater like this where _she's_ the only thing that exists. Maybe he's not underwater but above the clouds, waiting for her to show up again.

"Whenever you draw her you…" Lillie pauses, searching for the right words, "you grow very focused. I had never seen you this compromised about a matter this trivial."

Gladion peels his eyes from the sheet and turns to her. Lillie had always been very dreamy and supportive of his endeavor, but her words betray a very different feeling. "Is that a bad thing?"

Lillie flinches in apprehension. "Oh, not at all. I'm just… truly surprised, that's all."

She stays quiet again. The grinding of his pencil against the paper fills the space. His mind travels to what Moon had looked like that day, to what her smile had been like. Her fingers had been thin and soft, her hair had been soft and light, her eyes like a star and her smile gentle, kind and warm. He wonders if he fails at capturing her essence because a painting can't compare to her presence, to her loving touches, to her kisses, and he wonders what paint he will use next time–

"You seem truly enamored with that girl." Lillie breaks evenly through the silence with her words. Gladion nods to signal that he's listening. "Mother told me she saw you in the basement again."

The basement is where the paints are, he wants to say. It's the place where he gets the closest to seeing her, to meeting her again. It's the furthest place from the sky. He wonders if there's an irony there, somewhere.

"I was looking for something." Paints. A canvas. Making plans. "What's wrong with that?"

"You know I… I understand what you're going through– well, I don't understand it, but I want to. I think your current philosophy is valid and that these sorts of things can happen, that even if it's a fantasy and Mother says fantasies don't exist–"

" _Lillie_."

A call for clarity.

Lillie sighs.

"You know Mother doesn't like artists." He does. "And you have been spending a worrying amount of time in the basement, drawing, painting." Lillie swallows a careful, petite sigh. "You have sold your soul to a dream."

He has. "I have."

"But was it in vain?" When Gladion arches an eyebrow, asking her to elaborate, she bites her lip and points at his old sketchbook. "Have you finally achieved perfection as you wanted?"

He hesitates. Lillie never knew that his motives went far beyond perfection. Anyone in his family would believe his perfectionist habits, but _nobody_ would believe that he had fallen in love with a picture. Nobody would believe that painting her brings a light to his existence that success, wealth and health could _never_ bring.

Something in her eyes tells him she _knows_ he's head over heels for the image of this woman. That many artists have fallen for their muses.

But this love for muses is merely a symptom of an obsession. It's not _true_ love. The legends speak of longing he has long surpassed. His commitment to this story is such he has invested his whole being into loving Moon.

Lillie doesn't know that Moon _exists_. That she's more than a muse. She's a goddess he can reach if he bids his time.

Lillie understands simple infatuation, but she would never understand his fixation, his enamourment with Moon. He's not obsessed as an artist or longing like a mortal longs to touch the sky.

He longs to be with her, hold her hand, be held by her for eternities to come.

But the Aether Family would never understand his feelings, and with misunderstandings comes mistrust. And Lusamine isn't a friend of people she can't trust.

Lillie's question hangs in the air for two minutes as he's enraptured in his head once more.

"It's not about perfection anymore," he mutters.

In the past, he had contemplated the possibility of _not_ being with her– with disgrace and misery, sure, but the possibility of her _not_ existing had floated at the back of his mind. It's not like that anymore. It's _not_ about _perfection_ anymore.

Lillie gazes at him. There's a crease to her brow that showcases further concern. "Then what is this about? You never wanted to be an artist."

If becoming an artist means encasing Moon in his arms for a while as he paints her in a bland canvas, he will trade the world for that.

But Lillie doesn't need to know that, so, instead, he keeps drawing.

* * *

His dreams of her have been dwindling these days. Locations change as seasons progress, and where he once saw warm colors and skylights, he now sees a forest washed by sunlight and the leaves brushing her cheeks.

Sometimes, it's only an image of her surrounded by birds and laughter.

Other times, she's crawling to him and caressing his cheeks as he sleeps. Her voice has been getting foggier with the passing of time.

His heart clenches with each syllable that sounds amiss.

"I will forever be waiting, my love," she taunts in his ear, her fingerpads caressing his skin. "We will be together forever. Even if it takes me a lifetime."

Gladion loosely ponders the meaning of _lifetime_ , and ideas swing into his head like the light of a bulb hanging loose from a ceiling, flickering in and out of existence. Her touch grows fainter, her presence becomes smaller, and when he wakes up, his heart is heavy.

* * *

While nobody usually remembers what their dreams had been about, his stick to his head throughout the whole day.

It's the first time Gladion doesn't pick up a notebook since he last saw her. He stares at it at a loss of what to do, what to think.

What does _lifetime_ mean?

It's an ambiguous word he had read in fairytales of pure love and gracious dancing, where the prince and the princess stay together forevermore. For him, a lifetime means a whole _life_ 's worth. A lifetime means that he will see the flowers bloom in a field, he will see the snow be born to then melt on his palms, and he will sketch the crimson leaves of autumn to remind himself what her cheeks had looked like.

Moon will never see this, though. She will remain in the sky, watching over him. Never present, always there, haunting his eyes. Sometimes, his eyes see black hair and pale skin and he thinks it's her.

His heart sinks when he's met with the constant reminder that she's gone.

She's out of reach; that doesn't mean she's gone forever, because she's in his dreams, and as long as he sees her there, everything will be alright.

But months are passing and he begins to wonder if Moon will love him the same when he's old and graying. He wonders if Moon will remain as young, poised and beautiful as she is now– though he's sure he'd love her the same, he has to wonder if she would love _him_ the same.

Gladion had pictured meeting her again in the same way he dreams of her– fleetingly, washed in pastel lights and a gentle touch on his heart that makes him warm, happy, alive. Maybe she would come to his deathbed wearing a smile brighter than the sun, and maybe, she would take him to where he has found he belongs: high in the sky where nobody can touch either of them.

He sometimes sneaks into Lillie's bedroom at night, and he stays up reading of fantasies old as time, how princes fell for princesses that never aged and how the sun would fall for the moon even if it knew it would never last.

Gladion wonders how much a lifetime would mean, how much it would cost if it means spending an endless life by her side, someday.

The word _lifetime_ rattles in his head as he dances through the pages, and the more he reads, the more dread that pits in his stomach.

He wonders if Moon will love him when he's no longer young, and all that's left of him is a spirit he long traded to her.

* * *

The many tales he reads of heartbreak, tragedy, and despair don't prevent him from dreaming her up, from making up her presence in his consciousness when Morpheus takes him in.

He can feel the ghostly touch of her fingers on his hair. His head is on something soft. He's not sure what's his bed and what is _her_ anymore.

"You sometimes worry too much, Gladion." The wind carries her words. "We will meet someday. Please, do not worry about it, my love. Live on for me, and wait for me just a little longer."

But how does he tell her that he's a lovesick fool and that he needs to see her again? Desperately, fiercely, agonizingly so? How can he talk to her when, in his daze of her fading voice, he can't say anything back?

He hugs the pillow to his chest, willing it to be her, and allowing himself back into a memory where they were sitting on the moon and, just for one night, they owned the world.

Gladion decides to shove the books to the side. Part of him guesses that if he ignores the books, the tales, the fragilities of artists falling for a figure so unreachable, he won't lose his spirit.

He had grown a crack in his heart that only painting would mend– so he spends days on end slaving over his next portrait, bent over backward like a slave to pay his love tribute.

After some hours, Gladion stopped painting. His mind, too exhausted for his body to bear, has drawn a blank and he can no longer conjure her image in his head. Confused, scared and mildly enraged, Gladion goes over to his desk and he tries to draw her again.

His hands won't move and her voice is barely a whisper of the tone he used to remember so well. Livid with himself, impatient and tired, Gladion bangs his fists on the desk and a jar of water tumbles down and shatters on the floor.

Lillie hurries to the basement shortly after this commotion. Judging by how quickly she comes in, Gladion guesses it was in her plans to visit him.

After a short glimpse at his panting form, how he's bent like an arch over the desk and doesn't utter a word, her eyes swing to the magnificent canvas, conveniently hit by the whimsical moonlight. "Gladion, this…"

"She looks breathtaking, doesn't she?" He lifts his head an inch. "It's getting harder to paint her lately."

Lillie blinks. "Her?"

"Moon."

She stares at him in silence as though she doesn't understand what he's talking about. "You… gave her a name?"

"No, it's– it's her name. That's what she _is_ called." Gladion bends back, sighing, and his back lets out a pleasing crack. "Goddesses have names, you know. Look at her."

When Lillie continues looking at him like he's grown another head out of thin air, Gladion sighs and rubs a cloth over his hands to remove the paint. The only spot in this room that looks decent is Moon's painting– but that's how it's always been. His surroundings are gray and miserable until she comes in.

He comes to stand right by his sister, gazing at the portrait fondly. As tired as he is, he has no inhibitions to pour his heart out and wipe all the misery in this basement clean. After his father's absence, it's all that remains: a broken family, a broken artist, a broken, longing man.

Moon's paintings have been getting bigger and taller lately.

"She looks so peaceful, doesn't she? It's how I last remember her. She was so happy the last time I saw her." She's sitting on the moon, caressing the stars and looking at the universe with a longing sparkle in her deep, beautifully jaded eyes. Clouds shape the ground and the night sky forms the ceiling. If he focuses, he can still feel himself soaring into the clouds again. "She's the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Her touch is… soft. She has a cute smile, a cute laugh, and her voice can cure any disease. I miss her. I miss being by her side and looking at the city like we could own the world."

Lillie's eyes have widened. Her head shifts to the painting, then back to her brother, whose eyes haven't broken away from the painting.

He touches the dry fabric of her dress delicately. "It's getting harder to remember her. I hate it. I'm starting to forget about details that I could paint so easily before. Father always told us that details make a painting's worth yet here I am, failing at that." He turns his head to the small window. It's firmly shut. "I wonder if she's scared of me forgetting her and if she has forgotten about me. I wouldn't be able to bear that."

Two beats of silence pass. Gladion carefully traces the outline of his painting with keen attention.

"Gladion?"

"Yeah?"

Lillie looks around her–she looks at the grime plastered on the walls, the jaded colors on the floor, the dust collecting at forgotten shelves. Her fingers squeeze the fabric of her dress.

"You're aware that your muse– you're aware that she's not real, are you?"

Something in the air changes like a lever and a heavy weight falls on Gladion's shoulders and heart.

His eyes squint at her. "What are you talking about?"

His voice is hoarse and thick with meaning. Lillie gulps.

"Um, when I mentioned that artists have fallen in love with their muse, I meant it in a more… creative manner." She looks at Gladion earnestly, trying to meet his eyes. "You saw a woman in a painting and I understand you are truly inspired by her appearance, it's what a muse is and, um, I suppose different artists channel their creativity in different manners but…"

Her silence is enough of completion for her words.

 _She's not real_.

But she is, Gladion knows. He's firmly sure of this. There had been room to wiggle an argument back then, but not anymore.

Despite his confidence in this very fact, something akin to a lump has caught in his throat, and when he speaks again, it's somewhat ragged. "What do you mean? Of course she is real." He gestures at the painting. "I know it's not perfect, but… she _is_ real. I saw her, Lillie."

"Yes, you saw her in a painting."

"No, I saw her!" His voice raises above the gentle tone he'd always use when in front of his sister. She takes a timid step back. "She was sitting on the moon, Lillie. She's the guardian of the night sky. She has balloons and clouds and stars and everything is _beautiful_ when I'm with her." A small pause. "When… I _was_ with her."

Silence falls over the room like a blanket made of dust and lies, and Lillie wraps herself tightly with it.

"I… brother, guardians and gods don't exist. You know this very well. Remember when Father told us bedtime stories about fairies and magic? That's all it was, big brother… it was just a fairytale. It was _not_ real."

She's lying.

She's _lying_.

At his silence, Lillie is urged to continue, albeit unsure and shaky. "Maybe you have simply been slaving over this… _hobby_ of yours too much. You should get some rest, and I'm sure you will find clarity." A little smile graces her features in the dark. "I will put some order in this room, alright? You have been working on this for too long. Maybe going out for a walk will help too."

Gladion accepts Lillie's hand as she guides him out of the basement and to his bedroom. His back is sore and his whole body hurts from sitting on that stool for so long, and while in his head he practices the many he ways he wants to tell Lillie that Moon _is_ real, none come out of his mouth.

Instead, he drowns into dreamless, black slumber.

He's not sure of what that could mean.

* * *

His mother summons him to her office the following day and that's _terrible_ news. She sits behind her desk and sips from her tea while Gladion sits on a small chair, a vase full of daffodils filling the blank spaces around Lusamine.

"I have talked to your dear sister." Gladion nearly curses under his breath. "She is very concerned about your well-being, Gladion. She has told me you are eating too little and fantasizing a little too much."

Upon being met with no answer, Lusamine gets up from her chair, bringing her tea and plate with her. She takes a few steps to look out the window of her mansion, watching the butterflies perch on the perfectly trimmed bushes and watching the morning dew glitter off the grass blades. Her eyes, nearly yellow in scrutiny, harden as she speaks again.

"What has your head in the clouds like this? I did not raise a boy with anything but a dream in his head, Gladion. You are meant to be my right hand in the management of the museum, not some bohemian, worthless artist." The room is washed in warm colors but Gladion's heart has gone cold. He holds himself straight with an expressionless visage. "So, do tell me, what has happened? Is everything that Lillie told me true, dear son?"

Oh, how artificial that _dear_ sounds. Gladion swallows her hypocrisy like a child being fed. "What has Lillie told you?"

"That you have grown artistic habits similar to those of your father, as well as… an uncanny fondness to a portrait in our basement." Lusamine drinks tea. Gladion holds his breath. Birds chirp outside. "I never thought you, of all people I trust, would grow such an obsession for a piece of fabric and wood. Truly disgraceful."

His gut twists at her chiding tone, one that he has heard her use over and over during his twisted upbringing, where every portrait of his father had been burnt or sold and any mention of that man would be met with screams and cold words. "It is _not_ an obsession."

"It truly sounds like it, son." Lusamine doesn't turn to face him, encasing her in a lukewarm shadow. Her body is young and her heart is as old as the devil. "I believe I told you and Lillie that I wanted you to become people of use. This world has too many dreamers to make itself useful. I will _not_ tolerate this behavior anymore."

Lusamine being so insistent on the artistic side of his story is a blessing in disguise, because he could always do his tasks in the silence of his room and take all his things to his room–

"I will be closing down that basement. Indefinitely." Gladion's heart stills altogether. "Your father's memory has been hindering our family's progress for too long, and it's time we close that door. You will not have access to the basement or the drawings it contains from today on."

The memory of Moon goes out the window, his eyes flare and his stomach lurches in emotion.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks in a cold, yet tremorous voice. "I'm not hurting anybody. I'm not hurting _you_ either. You couldn't care less about me drawing like Father used to."

At this, Lusamine turns. The sound of her heels hissing on the marble floor sends a shudder of fear down his spine. An unnaturally thin smile curls her lips. "Oh, but I am worried about your sister, Gladion. She has been fretting over your petty affections since she last talked to you. You should understand that no good mother would like to see her children in distress, son."

There's poisonous vitriol in her voice that could make the world stand still and die, yet his eyes stare firmly at his mother while she expects a rebuttal from his oh so stubborn son.

She has played her cards so inhumanly well Gladion is surprised to see that the sun is still shining and that no deity has batted an eye at this.

"Lillie has nothing to do with this."

"I agree, but she is your sister. I don't like seeing her suffer, Gladion." Lusamine saunters closer to him, and then brings his chin up with her finger, smirking. "Mother always knows best, son. And I am sure whatever feelings you harbor right now will fade away in time. Wouldn't you agree?"

Because if he doesn't, Lillie will pay the consequences, be it because of her anxiety or because Lusamine's possible torment she might unleash on his young sister.

His eyes narrow. "You can't touch Lillie."

"Then you should land back on safe ground, son. You have had your head in the clouds for far too long, I'm afraid." Lusamine draws back and goes around her desk agonizingly slow. "I will not repeat myself ever again. This matter will stay between us three and nobody else. We shall go back to being the happy, perfect family we once were before your fantasies broke in."

Because if he doesn't, Lillie will suffer the consequences.

"You can leave now." Lusamine sits back on her chair, leaving the empty cup of tea at the center of the desk. "Dinner starts at eight today. Be punctual, and make sure none of this foolery ever happens again, my dear son."

* * *

In his dreams, her words are laced with worry.

"You seem so tense, my love. What happened?"

Her speech is distorted and overlapped with her mother's words like spikes in his heart. A warm hand is slanted on his chest, maybe on his head, and he feels a kiss of sunlight on his temple.

"Mortals can't understand the woes of love. They will never understand. Mortals are very naïve and ignorant."

He tries to reach her. He tries to confirm this is a dream but that she is real and this isn't a nightmare disguised with a dress of fondness and affection.

Please, let her be real.

"We will be together someday. I am so sorry I have to keep you waiting. I wish I could take your pain away. I wish I could kiss it all better, my love." Her warmth spreads everywhere, sparkling happiness at the end of his fingertips and his sore heart. "I will see you soon."

When he wakes, his bed is empty and the sunlight is bright on his eyes.

She's not there.

Her warmth lingers.

The space by his bed is empty.

* * *

Lillie knocks on the door of his room, and the first thing he does is open the window of his room so the smell of acrylics can be washed away. His sister steps into the room with a gentle smile on her face. She nearly looks apologetic; something must be up.

"Mother told me you talked to her yesterday."

Whenever somebody in his family talks to him it makes him dread his entire existence. He wonders why. "Yeah, she did."

His tone isn't clipped per se, but it's certainly tense. Guarded.

"I never meant for my worry to show through, I… I never thought she would get so angry." Gladion says nothing. "I am so sorry, Gladion. I truly am."

But she has nothing to apologize for, he wants to say. It's not her fault his mother is such an absolute _maniac_ that can't stand a spec of color in her white, black and gold house. He hates his mother but he loves his sister very dearly and _everything_ becomes complicated when those two worlds collide.

And it's not like he doesn't have his supplies tucked under his bed, so he can play hooky for now. "Don't apologize. It's fine." Lillie nods and sits on the edge of his bed. "Did you need anything?"

"Um, well… what are you drawing?"

Gladion gives her that tell-tale look that makes her eyes, yet again, sink and become a little paler. She never looks for danger in his eyes but she always manages to stumble into them.

"I didn't mean to be so harsh the other day–"

"You weren't harsh," Gladion says right away, and the most recent memory he has of Moon slips into his speech. "You can't understand any of this. Sometimes, I barely understand it myself." His pencil loosely sketches on the sheet. His eyes are lost on the loops of his notepad. He's sketching little circles on the white. Aimless. "Moon is real. Neither you or Mother would understand."

Lillie seems to accept this by how she's silent and nods, but her eyes are still creased and there's this concern in her eyes that she won't strip. She moment she comes into this house, she grows tiny and more like Lusamine, a broken version of her.

"How do you know she's real?"

He has a quick answer for this. "I saw her."

"She could… have been a dream." Another one, at that, he guesses. "Maybe you drunk a little too much one day and you imagined things that simply were not there, brother."

His heart does a double-take and his mind stills. His frantic search for options dries out and all that's left is doubt. Hesitation.

He had drunk that night. She had faded in and out of existence, but she had been up there in the clouds. Gladion _had_ kissed her. He can still recall the shape of her mouth on his, even if the memory is faint and her touch is a ghost in the dead of the night.

He takes a second too long to answer.

"I was with her." He swallows a thick gulp. "I kissed her, too. And we held hands. We watched over this city and she told me about the stars." The more he speaks, the more confident he grows. "I wouldn't make something like this up, Lillie. I don't have that capacity to imagine something as loving as that."

"Except that you are clearly infatuated with this... figure." Because for Lillie, Moon is only a figure. For Gladion, she's his light. They stand at either side of a two-sided mirror, playing catch with each other's realities, waiting for the other to crack and be free. "I would not put it past you. Father was just as imaginative as you are."

Gladion is getting tired of this back and forth. He closes his notepad. "If you are here to tell me that Moon isn't real, you can–"

She hurries to interrupt him, softly so. "No, sorry. I didn't come here with that intention exactly."

His rigidness melts a little and Lillie relaxes too. Her eyes stare out the window over his bed before getting up. The window pans over his bed and all over the wall, only limited by red curtains. The room is washed in dewy starlight and the faraway cry of the galaxies being destroyed, then born again.

Gladion looks out too, and his eyes turn to the moon. It's round tonight, fully shining. He wonders how things worked up there for his beloved, how long it would take for him to meet her once more.

He wishes he had kissed her a thousand times to have her memory be a thousand times brighter.

"If you were with her as you say," Lillie sighs, looking for the right words to say, "then I suppose she could come here, right? I'm not sure how these things work, but…"

"She's a guardian. I'm not sure where she is right now." He admits, troubled. "She told me she would have to go somewhere else because it wouldn't be fair for her to watch over somebody she's biased for."

Biased for is a gentle euphemism for 'in love'. It works wonders on Lillie, who nods in understanding, yet there's visible hesitation to believe him in her eyes.

Lillie had never distrusted Gladion in her life. Not even when he told her he hadn't stolen her crayons from her backpack when Father would take them to kindergarten.

"Then… how can you prove she exists?" Lillie asks, and Gladion is quick to frown again. "How can you be sure she's not a figment of your imagination? You– People can't travel to the sky and meet a god, Gladion. They don't–"

"Moon _exists_ ," Gladion remarks. His grip on his notepad is tight and turns his fingerpads white. "I have _kissed_ her. I walked on the clouds with her."

"That's not possible, big brother. You have studied physics just like I did– you can't walk on clouds no matter how much fairytales insist on it." She shakes her head, eyebrows curled in worry and fear for his reaction. "You need to realize that was probably a dream, Gladion. You have been working very hard on many things– if it isn't the museum, then it's painting."

"I would never dream of things that specific, Lillie."

And she's moved by the slight dent in his voice, by how tired and how hoarse he is– because Gladion is only human, and unlike Moon, he has come to realize that he only has one lifetime to spare, one opportunity to live.

Part of him doesn't want to waste it away. It's been on his mind increasingly often since Lillie allowed a drip of reality on him.

She sits on his bed again, grabbing his hands. "But you might! I have had dreams that were very specific too! But that's all they were– they were dreams. That's all they will ever be."

Gladion stares at Lillie for a solid minute, searching for what to say, what to tell her.

"I… I have dreamt of her too. Actual dreams." Lillie's eyes widen a little at that. "But she's tangible in my dreams. I can touch her, I can feel her touch. I can hear her voice, Lillie."

"That's… that's what a dream is, brother." Her voice is dry. Careful. "It was only a dream. Your pictures are beautiful and, in all honesty, no matter what Mother says, I am glad you picked up painting. It's not about that."

Something flares within him and ticks in a slow tremor, causing him to grab his right hand as it begins to shake. A sign of distress.

"Then what is this about, Lillie?" he asks, tremorous and impatient. "You don't know anything about this. I'm not hurting anybody by holding onto whatever it was! It was _real_ , I know it was!"

"It was _not_!"

"Lillie, I was with her!" Gladion fires, frowning, incorporating himself to look decisively at her. "You can't say what was real and what wasn't! I have been painting a lot and yeah, I _love_ her! How can there be anything wrong with that?"

"She's not real, Gladion!" Lillie says frantically, reaching to grab his shoulders, a plea leaving her lips. "She's only a dream, she doesn't exist! You need to snap out of it!"

His eyes narrow in a vicious yellow: his inner Lusamine.

"Don't try to make me live like you and Mot– _Lusamine_ do." His intent is sharp like a razor blade. "If you want to live under her shade forever, then do so. But I'm not going to keep living under her same roof if she will hold me back from meeting the person I love."

Gladion abruptly gets up from his bed, shuffling into a pair of shoes with a clear, new idea in mind. Lillie frantically reaches for his arm. "Wait, where are you going?"

"I'm not going anywhere yet." Lillie lets him go. She's still seated on his bed, soft, hurt, concerned, _fragile_. The exact little lady Lusamine had shaped her to be– and he refuses to be under her strings anymore. "But I can't stay here anymore. Not if Lusamine will live here too."

Gladion moves to the door.

Lillie's words reach him a second too late. "It's like I'm watching you chase after a ghost, Gladion." His hands ball into fists. "The ghost of someone that doesn't exist."

He slams the door shut.

* * *

Gladion has to kick the door to the basement off its hinges. Like an animal running on adrenaline, rage, and anger alone, he destroys the door with a kick, and it doesn't offer much of a protest– the locks are ancient and time-bitten.

It nearly feels like he's entering a chamber untouched by time, but as soon as he steps into it, he firmly walks into the dust, wades through the memories and stomps to his desk.

His arm sweeps all the contents of the desk out of his way as he releases a scream of confusion, of pain, banging his fists on the weak desk before sliding to the floor with his strength gives out and all that there's left is the embers of desperation, frustration, impatience, and hurt.

His pants get dusty with the muck of the floor, and he realizes that paints had been kicked to the floor and had mingled with the papers and dust. The room is a disaster, the window is cracked open and what little light there is on the room is focused on him like a martyr.

He releases tearless sobs into his arm, shaking viciously as he becomes small, weak, letting reality sink in.

Maybe it _had_ been a dream.

Maybe, it had just been that. A mirage. A fleeting desire from his brain to break free from the tedium, from his gray life.

He doesn't realize tears are trailing down his face until he looks at the floor and there are wet circles on the dusty tiles.

He slowly slumps to the floor, and he falls asleep.

* * *

"Gladion, can you hear me?"

He can no longer hear her voice. He can barely see her.

He can no longer remember her. Her image is transparent, but her presence lingers.

"My love, what's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Gladion doesn't say anything.

He falls into black, Moon-less slumber.

When he wakes up, his cheeks are wet and his bed is a mess. His heart throbs, and for the first time in forever, he feels like he can't breathe.

The dust feels comforting under him, but it feels like he might have cried a river when, in reality, he might have fallen for somebody that simply isn't there.

* * *

Gladion soon finds out that living without her in his memory is not life. It's a decision he makes in a matter of days. His nights are peaceful, empty, and he had lived for so long with Moon in his life that living without her is _torment_.

He enters the basement one night, opening the make-pretend lock with ease. He walks to the back of the dark room and finds Moon's painting under a blanket.

His heart warms at the sight. She's as beautiful as he used to remember her, and he knows she has to exist somewhere. She might have moved regions to look after some other place while coming to his dreams during sunrise. He's trying to rationalize her motives, her existence, and just _her_ to keep himself from believing he's gone insane.

Gladion isn't sure of what to believe anymore, but what he knows is that he can't live without her anymore, and that he has to move forward.

He has to meet her again.

And this time, he won't leave her in the sky, alone to wait for the stars to align and for them to meet again.

Gladion sneaks out of his house at night, the painting of her covered with papers and threads. He takes her painting across the dark streets, across the alleys with no people and along the rivers that flow through the buildings. The critters cry in the night.

Gladion takes a bus and sketches a picture of his beloved in paper. He tries hard to remember her voice, and her voice comes to him in the shape of a whisper, the time she had told him she loved him and the small noises she had made when he kissed her.

It's all coming back to him the further he gets away from his house.

It's getting easier to breathe.

He drops right in front of a museum– but it's not his family's museum, but another. One that is humbler, full of artistic people that will truly appreciate his painting and the intent behind it.

A woman with blond hair, tired eyes and shirt full of paint greets him at the entrance. "Oh, hey there. You're that snotty Aether boy, aren't you? I was about to close business for today. Do you have any business to do with me?"

Gladion wordlessly takes the painting from behind him and unwraps it. The woman's eyes widen in surprise, and Gladion reads that her name is 'Mina', written on a plaque attached to her shirt.

He looks at Moon's smile under the lights of the museum's entrance. She looks much happier here. Much more radiant.

" _Woah_." She squats to the ground to inspect the painting. Her eyes sink to his sign at the corner. "You painted this? Dude, that's talent."

"Thank you," he says.

"Isn't your Ma kinda crazy about not allowing artists into her museum? She didn't let me in last time I visited."

Gladion's eyes widen, but then, he looks at the painting once more. He's not sure if he should fully confide in this stranger, but something in her deeply cerulean eyes tells him she's to be trusted. "I want… I want her to rest here." He rubs some dust off the corner of the canvas. "I want this to be somewhere where she will be appreciated. I have things to do and she's not safe at Aether."

Maybe it's the way he's calling this painting 'she', or how he looks at it with more love than any artist she has ever seen before, but his words are compelling enough to take her keys out and slam them into the lock once more, opening the doors.

"Hell yeah, dude. Love rocks." She parts the double glass doors for him to walk in. "You pick the place, my dude. Let's get your lady a good place to sit on."

And for once, Gladion feels things might be going right.

* * *

A gentle knock echoes on the door the following day.

"Come in," says Lusamine, dropping her pen to greet her guest– she's shocked to see that it's Gladion in her office, arms crossed and eyebrows sunken. "Good evening, son. I was wondering where–"

"I quit."

Lusamine recoils as though he just slapped her on the face.

" _What_?"

"I'm leaving," he says, words clear and eyes solid as steel. "I'm going to travel somewhere far from here. It won't be compatible with my position here– not like I truly want to stay here any longer." Gladion takes his museum's ID and slides it to her across the desk. "I won't work for you any longer."

Gladion stays quiet out of politeness and a need to see how she reacts to his departure, because her face has gone pale and she's too stoic to be herself. His tone is resolute, and she knows this. It's as though she has seen this coming from very away and she's been bidding her time.

She slams her hands on the table and gets up.

"What do you mean you're _leaving_!?" Lusamine screams, swatting the ID out of sight. "You _can't_ leave! You belong in this family! You _live_ here!"

"I don't live here anymore." Gladion points behind him. "I have my suitcase made, and you will never see me again unless Lillie sends you photos. Oh, and I have told her I'm leaving." His eyes darken. "Good luck trying to manipulate me into your claws again. It won't work anymore."

Her jaw quivers in ire, and she slams a fist on the table in a fashion too similar to his. "Why would you even leave!? We are _perfect_! You could have anything you wanted, Gladion!"

Anything but _her_.

"Our family is far from perfect. A mother would never prevent her children from doing the many things we did in hiding, Lusamine. Father was the only normal person in this family," he declares, aware that he's doing a bit too much damage to his already deranged mother. He sighs. "I'm leaving. And you will never know where I'm going."

With that, Gladion turns to leave. He's aware that he's leaving his family's clutch, that he's breaking free from safety that he might miss on the long run, and that–

"Our family is rich!" Lusamine calls when she sees Gladion has one foot out the door. "You could have it all! You already had it all and you just want to throw it all away for some foolish fantasy that will never come true!"

Her blades dig into his back and they disappear. Gladion remains unfazed, not facing Lusamine.

He turns to her with a small smile.

"I was never anyone until I met her," he says. "And she's waiting for me just as much as I've been waiting for her."

Gladion's last glimpse of Lusamine is her expression contorted by uncontrollable anger, but when he closes the door, the mirage disappears.

* * *

Gladion's plan is certain and secure. Mina had believed him when he told her about his story, and she advised he went to a neighboring region where mythology is alive, unlike this gray city. Mina's words had encouraged him to run as fast as he could, and that's exactly what he has set out to do.

"We'll let your drawings hang out here," she had told him, smiling. "I bet people are gonna love it. You better draw more stuff wherever you are, and you better invite me to your first exhibition, my dude."

He reads Mina's notes as he boards the ferry, tucking his hat further over his head. A pair of sunglasses cover his eyes and his hair has been plucked into his hat to avoid any strangers asking about his reasons to flee. In the public eye, Gladion is another elitist jerk raised into elegance, purity, and perfection, but it couldn't be anything but.

He needs to fully remember Moon for everything to be alright again. He has a drawing tucked into his backpack, another resides in his wallet. He can't wait for tonight's sleep to come, and as the seagulls cry in the sky and bid him farewell, he's sure he will see her again soon.

He's finally installed in his room by sunset, and while he's taking a nap, something happens.

The ferry rocks abruptly to one side, and an explosion detonates in the distance, bringing Gladion to alarm. He can hear people running around everywhere, the water is rushing into the boat and everything is escaping his control too quickly.

The sky has gone dark outside, yet there's no storm outside– it's something much darker that none of the mortals in this ship would ever understand.

A foreboding crack forms on the ship and where he's certain there had been no waves, it feels like the sea is rocking them to its own whims. The vessel shakes, throws him around, and when he tries to leave his room, he is tossed to the ground and his head is hurt. Badly.

His surroundings become dizzy. His body grows heavy, water begins to pull him into a cold, deadly embrace, and when he flutters his eyes open, the ceiling has begun to collapse, yet his body can't move.

He wants to scream as needles of wood prick blood out of his skin, and he wants to call for somebody to help him up as the ship begins to sink breaking apart before Gladion's eyes. His vision becomes clouded, dots of black filling the space around him and while he can register people screaming and begging for their lives, it's all becoming muddled with a familiar, deadly silence.

Gladion wishes he had gotten to thank Mina properly for her favors.

He wishes he could have gotten to taste fame– good, self-earned fame.

And he wishes he could have gotten to hear Moon's voice one last time.

He calls for her one last time, an apology leaving his lips and being lost to the air as everything breaks apart and his world shuts off.

* * *

When the storm fades, all that is left is the quietness of the ocean, rocking him around as the moonlight washes over him.

It's bitterly ironic that his life will end under the safe covet of the night, the stars, and his beloved watching over him from far away. The stars look at him in curiosity, twinkling with a familiar hue that takes him back to that wonderful night he spent with her, to when the world was fair and beautiful and all he needed was _her_.

His night with her becomes clearer the sleepier he feels, and strangely, his body doesn't hurt. If anything, the silence around him is nice, and the temperature is warm and pleasant. His body is comfortable on the water, sans the slight pang of fear that he might be dying.

But nothing hurts, and for once, alone with his beloved, he can find peace. A sleepy seagull bids him farewell and migrates to the north, and the fishes swimming under him go to sleep.

The moon glows and it serenades him into calmness, into believing that wherever his body goes, his soul will live on– after all, he traded it to a beautiful being that lives in the sky.

As his consciousness dwindles, he feels ghostly hands caressing his cheeks slowly, bringing his eyes to open as his heart beats again.

He sees something tinted teal floating towards him, so round and familiar he wonders if this might be a hallucination due to hypothetical blood loss.

And despite the odds, when Gladion weakly raises a hand to the thread of the balloon, he touches the fabric and holds onto it tightly like it's his only chance to make it out alive.

The thread thickens and fingers expand from the balloon until a full goddess has her hands wrapped around his, leaning over him like the warm water is his deathbed and she's here to say goodbye.

It's her.

It's Moon.

 _His_ Moon.

His heart bursts at the sight, regret and bitter love filling his chest. Moon presses her palms on his cheeks, smiling at him, kissing his forehead as her dress mingles with the moonlight-tattered waves like a halo.

"I'm so happy to see you again, my love. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you– but I'm with you," she says, so full of love and affection it can't be anything but real. "I'm so sorry it took me so long– _oh_ , so long. And I'm so, so sorry I couldn't do anything, that I–"

Gladion presses a weak finger to her lips, smiling gently. Her cheeks fill with tears that are anything but sad, however, and as he lets himself believe her and soak in her presence, he feels impossibly lighter. Alive. "I'm the one who is sorry for thinking you weren't real," he says in a choked, weak sob. "God, I'm so sorry."

Part of him is afraid of her slipping away again, because this time, he knows she's there, cradling him like he would like to hold her someday– that is, if life will ever let him. His body is growing weaker, and he's sure his heartbeat is beginning to run out of vitality; and yet, in her presence, he can only feel light, at ease, peaceful.

It's an odd paradox. He had read that death felt cold and careless, yet he feels warm and healed, touched by moonlight and the only woman he's ever loved. The numbness is inviting, almost.

It looks like a goodbye, but it feels like something more.

It feels like the beginning.

"It's fine, Gladion. It's fine," Moon begins to float away, but before he can protest, before he can implore her to stay before his final moments, her hand is tugging his and his body slowly floats off the water. "You will be safe with me now. I'm taking you to where you belong. To where _we_ belong. And we can be together, forever."

Gladion blinks the dots of darkness out of his eyes, and when he opens them again, he finds the brightest star smiling at him and reaching for him, pulling him closer. He feels unnaturally light, and for some reason, he's discouraged from looking down. His body no longer feels numb, but alive, and the light has returned to his eyes, reflecting the moonlight as they float off the water and into the sky.

They cross the sky like falling stars and fly away from Earth until the waves are nothing but small dots of dark seafoam and the welcoming winds of the moonlight surround them in a candid embrace.

Gladion gives her an earnest smile. "As long as it's with you, I don't mind if you take me to hell and beyond."

Moon takes him into her arms, giggling as they rise into the clouds, and he presses a kiss to her nose before curling his arms around her and hugging her tight. Moon kneads his hair softly, reassuring him of her presence before dissolving into quiet cries of relief of her own.

"I won't leave ever again," he says into her shoulder, not willing to let her go. "So if this is a dream, please don't wake me up."

Moon pulls him away to cradle his cheeks, smiling. "It's not a dream anymore." Their foreheads touch gently. "I hope you don't mind watching the stars with me. I have been missing you with every passing day, my love."

He lets her carry him to the moon, across the sea, and into the endless sky.

"And I hope you don't mind me painting you and spending every day with you. There is nothing I would want more than to watch the night sky with you, Moon."

Moon's laughter carries itself with the seasalt wind as they disappear into the clouds, into the sky, and onwards to the stars.

* * *

It's been three years since his death and, sometimes, Lillie thinks she might be going insane.

It's a soft kind of insanity if she were to put a name to it. When Lillie saw that the many paintings Gladion had done when he was alive were hanging in the museum's walls, her heart had swollen in appreciation.

"Art comes in many shapes and forms," Lusamine had said, looking at the dreamy portrait of the lunar goddess hanging on the hallway of the museum, alone with her daughter before opening hours. The first painting Gladion had ever done of Moon hangs on the proudest position of the facility. "I don't think it's right to hold art from coming to life anymore. This is what your father would have wanted, and ignoring that is… absolutely cowardly."

Lusamine's eyes grew glassy for a split second.

"And this painting is… truly breathtaking."

So Lillie thinks that remembering her brother is natural after Lusamine's awakening into sanity and warmth– he's everywhere now. There are portraits of Moon on many walls of the museum that many critics had praised for its depth.

Some people murmured that the delicacy and perfection in these paintings were that of a man in love– newspapers had asked too, but Lillie never answers those questions.

So with her brother's presence has to come remembrance. She looks around her, around the paintings on the walls of this social event, and then at her dress. She sees that woman, his brother's spirit in the acrylics–

That doesn't explain why she sometimes sees him in the crowd of this gala, dancing the night away with a woman she had seen many times before– a woman that had been a painting, yet not alive.

Lillie tries to follow their shapes as they waltz around the room. She's wrapped in night blue and he's decked in black and white, grinning like a small boy who is grasping the entire world in his hands. Lillie swears she hears his laughter, maybe even _hers_ , and she wonders if this gentle hallucination is what Moon had once been for him.

Lillie swears it's not real, but she can't know for sure anymore. If she reaches out for them, she's sure she would touch fabric, skin, and maybe, she'd even feel how much in love with each other they are.

After some time, Lillie decides to chase after them, tired of seeing these mirages and ghosts. She's tired of being haunted by these shapes, of seeing them everywhere, and of wondering what had become of his brother and the woman he was so obsessed with painting.

She never reaches them, and when she turns around, she sees them on the balcony of the building, looking at the night sky while holding hands, murmuring sweet nothings to each other.

Lillie swears Gladion turns around, and that he smiles at her before looking at the woman by his side with love, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

A swirl of people twirl around and in front of her, and when Lillie focuses again, she realizes with bated breathing that where two people in love used to stand, a simple balloon remains, floating away into the moonlight.

Lillie wonders where that balloon would take her, and if it took _him_ anywhere all those years ago.

The balloon disappears into the warm, gentle night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legends say Mirai didn't sit her ass down to write this in one afternoon and that she doesn't like the continuity of Moon represented as a fragile, flying balloon they also say Mirai didn't get overly invested with this fic to the point she nearly cried about 4 times while writing this even though this isn't that emotional right /sweats
> 
> tumblr ask: hey mirai do u absorb the feelings of your characters  
> me: oh not at all I'm stoic and professional  
> me: *nearly cries at Lusamine hanging paintings of his dead son's beloved in her museum*
> 
> and if you're wondering if Moon was actually a dream or if she wasn't
> 
> well
> 
> bye bruh

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a very good analogy of the process I went through to write this today because I wrote this during my bday and it was FUN LMAO so thank you Texty, the gift was amazing and I couldn't help myself but give this back to you even if it's long and I'm sorry THANK YOU
> 
> and to anyone who might wonder if they'll ever meet
> 
> my answer is
> 
> goodbye


End file.
